Omen
by StarCatBurning
Summary: "They say a black cat is never a good sign..." A hundred years after Yoruichi's disappearance, Byakuya is sent on a mission to Karakura. Chaos ensues.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

They say a black cat is never a good sign...

... Or something like that. It is something Kuchiki Byakuya once heard, many years ago, and he is surprised that he can at least recall that much - usually he never remembers things he cannot - does not want to - understand.

He, for one, will never understand humans and their silly superstitions. It is not as if the appearance of a dark-furred animal - a cat, he thinks, no less - will actually decide one's fate. What, then, if the black cat happened to be walking past and you had not seen it? Or, perhaps, that it was not a cat but you merely imagined it to be? And of course, there were so many black cats around at any one time, and so many people to see them, that one would think the entire Human World had to be in a state of perpetual misery.

He shakes his head slightly, eyes closed. Humans have no sense at all. It is no wonder that they are far inferior to Shinigami.

It's the beginning of a important mission in the Human World with Renji. His _fukutaichō_ seems excited - this is the first time he has called upon to complete missions in the Human World - and Byakuya wonders how he will break the news to him. Already he's had his subordinate exclaim loudly to him, with a goofy grin on his face, about the wonder of those moving stairs the humans called 'escalators'. Twice. They've received many suspicious looks as a result, and he's had to give Renji a_ look_ to shut him up properly.

It works - at least for a while, but it's not a few minutes later that Renji discovers the electric elevator.

"_Taichō_! Check this out!"

This might go on for a while.

He heads outside, trying to get a better chance at detecting his subject's _reiatsu_, when almost on cue, he spots a black cat. It's a sleek, golden-eyed thing, and it slinks around a corner, disappearing almost immediately out of sight.

Is it just his imagination, or does a sliver of _reiatsu_ escape from its tail and drift away on the wind?

* * *

Being wise enough - despite the many objections of his elders - to have connections in the Human World, he is able to make a few calls, and soon enough, be settled in relatively well.

Renji is gawping at the glittering monstrosity of the chandelier hanging in the lobby of the building that they are to take residence in. The only comfort that Byakuya has is that hopefully, this will be a short mission. In and out. Nothing too troublesome.

His heart tries to beat faster, the voice in his mind telling him that he doesn't want to do this - the ultimate act of betrayal. His rational side, however, reminds that this mission came directly from Central 46, and the last thing he wants to do is upset the law and order in Soul Society.

He's sworn his life to it.

Would she have agreed with him? He can visualize her smile, like the fleeting graze of cherry blossom petals against his mind.

_Hisana... I have to. It is my life's mission._

He tries to stop thinking about her, but the image of her slight figure, sitting alone under a tree in the garden, floats back to him. The way she looked up at him then, features soft and rounded in the dawn light.

* * *

_"Yes, Byakuya-_sama_?" _

_He takes a moment to admire her. She is a beautiful woman, the epitome of what a noble lady should be should be, despite being born in Rukongai. She's been poorly, though, and the winter has not been forgiving. _

_She coughs, slightly. He is instantly crouched down beside her, his hand steadying her, and she puts a delicate hand to her rosebud lips, turned pale by the frost. _

_"You must take care of yourself, Hisana," he scolds, but his gaze is gentle. _

_Her soft, amused laugh seems to find the look of concern on his face adorable. _

_"I will do as you wish, Byakuya-_sama_. Please, do not worry about me. I only continue to make my humble request."_

_ He knows what is coming; she has been dreaming of her sister since summer. _

_Rukia. _

_The sister she left behind, the one she has been spending her life finding. _

_And he has sworn, too, that he will find her. _

_It is all the love he can give Hisana._

* * *

The only problem now is that he is not sure how exactly to tell his lieutenant what they're after on this mission, especially since Central 46 specifically asked him to join his captain on the mission.

Normally, Byakuya operates alone, but this time, his second-in-command is not giving him a second of rest.

They've gone a whole day just to get Renji used to his gigai, though secretly Byakuya has been on the lookout for the telltale reiatsu signatures of his subject.

_Even I can't sense anything... Where is she hiding? _

And, of course, Renji wants to celebrate his first day in the Human World, in the human way, something he's picked up from Matsumoto-_fukutaichō_. He calls it ice-cream.

Soon they are walking back towards their lodging for the duration of the mission, somewhere along the trailing banks of the large river that runs through this town. His vice-captain walks slightly behind him, usually obnoxious drawl muted by the sweet, pineapple-flavoured confection that is occupying a great deal of the mobility of his teeth and tongue.

Perhaps, Byakuya thinks, if it will shut his_ fukutaichō_ up, even temporarily, he should restock on more of this _ice-cream_.

He tilts his head back for a second. There is no moon, and the stars glitter like cats' eyes.

_You, too, have left me alone._

He sees the cat again, right at the end of the road. It appears from the shadows of a dark alley, recognizable by those queer, intelligent eyes, and the streetlamps on the main road reflect the light of those two glittering amber gemstones, set into its head. The glare of the moon on its fur is the only thing that distinguishes it from the darkness pooling at the mouth of the alley.

It regards him, its eyes alert and knowing. He stares back, for a moment. Their eyes connect. Then it blinks, long and slow, and with a whip of its tail, disappears.

He hesitates for a second. Should he follow?

"Renji... You will head back to your lodgings first. I shall join you shortly."

"_Hai, taichō_!"

Byakuya walks into the alley, utterly alone.

The walls on either side rise up high, and from where he is only a small sliver of the sky is visible.

The only light comes from a lone streetlamp. Its glow paves a gradient of yellow into grainy darkness, swallowing his tread every step of the way in. It is dark and damp in the alley, and the moonlight glistens like spilled blood over small puddles.

Something splashes, a couple of feet ahead from where he is. His sandals make almost imperceptible ripples in the dank water.

Drip.

Drip.

He reaches the end of the alley - a high, unyielding brick wall on which hangs a machine that thrums monotonously, the blades inside its metal casing whirring.

Nothing.

To his credit, he does hang around for a few more seconds, then, finally deciding that there is nothing more worth to pursue, prepares to turn, and rejoin his _fukutaichō_ \- preferably before the fiery young man, with a temperament to match his hair, breaks something expensive.

He does not even have time to register the rush of wind that accompanies his hair slipping free in a wave down his shoulders, nor the laugh that sounds from somewhere behind him, light and clear like a spring wind.

When he does turn around, though, he is greeted by a pair of slender legs that join at a pair of hips. Those curve upwards, following his gaze past arms crossed under ample breasts to an all-too familiar face.

Shihōin Yoruichi grins, stark naked.

"Long time no see, Byakuya-_bō_."

* * *

It is as if someone has taken a mad mongrel to his heart.

He slides his lids shut, then opens them, simultaneously getting rid of any traces of the look on his face - Surprise? Anger? Relief? Yearning?

She's supposed to be dead.

She's supposed to be_ dead._

A hot wind swirls inside him. It feels like his own sword has turned against him, and the ribbons of his soul are blowing away on the wind. He wants to grab her, to kiss her senseless to run fingers along cool skin that his fingertips have not touched in over a century. He wants to make sure she's real, that she's here and has always been here.

His silence appears to worry her.

"Byakuya?" she asks, her smile slipping as she steps forward. "Are you-"

He charges her, sword wildly flashing through the air. He's never wanted to cut someone into pieces this badly, and it shows - the emotions have turned into a silver fire, blazing with _reiatsu_ across his blade.

Anyone else! Had it been anyone else, there wouldn't even be enough pieces of them to fill a stingy innkeeper's _saké_ jug.

But no, she's Yoruichi, fluid as a leaf dancing on the wind, and she dodges each of his uncalculated attacks.

His sword spins through the air as she catches his wrist, burying itself in the brickwork high above his head. Unfazed, he just keeps on going, resorting to the unarmed close combat techniques as used by the _Onmitsukidō. S_he easily blocks those, too, as if they were the flailing blows of a child's tantrum, and responds with palm strikes of her own.

The first catches him in the side of the head, but only serves to spur him on, like a maddened bull in the arena; the second, however, catches him in the solar plexus - he goes down like a sack of potatoes, winded, eyes wide enough to show their silvery irises.

A blur of wind. Then she is standing above him, her hand outstretched, offering him his sword. She pouts as he takes the handle, still kneeling, breathing hard. "I thought you'd be happy to see me, Byakuya."

The resounding silence drifts through the air like gasoline fumes. He stares. Just stares incredulously. And then-

"YOU'RE. SUPPOSED. TO. BE. DEAD!" He yells, running at her again, punctuating each word with a wild, uncoordinated swing, and he hates it - hates that even now, he can't be in perfect control of his body or his mind. He feels like a hundred years ago again - a little boy, irrational.

She dodges easily, and he lets out a yell and attacks with added ferocity. He doesn't even bother to activate his _shikai. _Blind rage takes over.

"SO _STAY_ DEAD!"

* * *

She is at the very least decent enough to let him wear himself out, until he's breathless, panting, leaning against the wall.

Then she approaches.

"Byakuya..." The trail of her voice is tentative.

"Clothe. Yourself." He looks up at her face, watches the confusion swirl across the beautiful features.

"I said, _clothe yourself._"

It's all he can do to keep his voice from trembling as he says this.

In response, looking slightly uncertain, she slowly unfurls his expensive scarf in one liquid motion, drapes it haphazardly about her shoulders, and the material slips against her skin, light on dark.

His breath catches despite himself, the fingers of a chill laddering down his spine. He squeezes his eyes shut; refuses to look at her, all the promises she entails.

...

_Even after all this time... She's beautiful._

_..._

He opens his eyes again, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

The _kenseikan_ go into her hair; she smiles, more confident now, showing white teeth.

Tease.

He buries his head in his hand, only now realizing how tired he is after an outburst unlike any other he's had in a hundred years, and a few seconds later she is beside him, hovering beside him, close, but not enough to touch.

"Byakuya?" she tries again, her voice shifting to a low purr.

He doesn't answer her, but waits till he has composed himself enough, then stands, lifting his sword. His face is a mask of cold.

She smiles when she meets his gaze, but the look on her face seems pained.

"I missed you too, Byakuya," she says quietly.

Does she think that it would be as easy to gain his forgiveness, just like that?

Does she-

_Don't look like that. I don't want you to ever look like that again._

The tip of his sword quivers, ever so slightly, and then he lowers it, and turns, his _haori _flung out behind him, and sweeps out of the alley, not caring that his clean white _tabi _are stained by the puddles of dirty water that his sandals splash into.

He barely registers the flash that announces that she's sped past him; she stands in his way, her arms spread wide, barring his path.

"Move," he snaps, keeping his voice low, yet, with the Kuchiki resonance that sets it ringing through the alley.

_I want _nothing _to do with you._

She stands her ground, though she flinches like she's been dealt a slap. He is surprised. The look in her eyes is... Determined. Resolute.

His heart betrays him first; his stance drops. He feels like an old man.

She is at his side now, and her fingertips brush his shoulder, though her movements suggest caution, as if she is a startled cat, afraid that he will explode again.

He does nothing.

She flings herself onto him.

The embrace is a hundred shades of awkward, of raw, untempered feeling. It rolls off her in waves, and dashes onto the cliffs of his being. She buries her face into his shoulder, her arms tight around him.

It can't say everything that needs to be said, can't fill the absence of a hundred years. It doesn't have all the nuances of words. It isn't even the slightest bit comfortable.

And maybe, just maybe, that's the reason he doesn't push her off.

* * *

When she finally lets go, he makes his stance clear.

"Do not think this changes anything, Shihōin demon."

The words have exactly the opposite effect on her, though. The glimmer in her eyes is back again; that same old look she would get a second before she would steal his hair tie, so many years ago; the look that she'd give him before she would transform back into a human and he'd have to shield his eyes, his face turning red (though admittedly he would always peek.)

"Tell you what, Byakuya." That lilt in her voice is back again.

"I am listening." He sighs.

"You do want these back, right?" She gestures to his scarf, still draped about her shoulders. Miraculously, it hasn't been stained by the puddles of rancid water in the floor yet, and it gleams as her body shifts in the moonlight.

"Yes." He can tell where this is going.

"Well, you're going to have to catch me, then!"

He shakes his head. "You can't be serious."

She grins. "Sure I am. There's dinner in it for you, too!"

Well, why not, he figures.

It's been a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Yoruichi turns to run, and is stopped dead in her tracks by the gleaming tip of Senbonzakura, pressed lightly to her windpipe. The silver edge digs slightly into her browned skin, and she knows that with a flick of his wrist, her blood would be all over the alley. The look in his eyes is strangely - drawing. It seems to penetrate her entire being, and she has the overwhelming to lean forward and touch his face, to stroke his skin, even if she had to slide Senbonzakura through her body, through flesh and bone.

She wonders how it would feel, whether he would be as smooth as the material of his scarf. He's grown so much more since she saw him, and he's at least a good head taller than him, much more intimidating.

_And beautiful._

She swallows a gulp, and moistens her chafed lips with a quick swipe of her tongue.

"I shall take these, thank you." He's smirking as he deftly removes his windflower scarf and _kenseikan _from her. She makes no attempt to clench her hand, still in shock, and the scarf slips though her fingers.

_How did he... No, when...?_

He wraps the scarf around his neck, and slides the _kenseikan _back into his hair with a practiced ease, his lids lowered. "I see. If I have not changed since we last met, then, surely you must have degraded to unthinkable levels."

If he had still been a boy, he would have pointed, laughed, and done some sort of highly uncoördinated victory dance around the Kuchiki clan compound. But he's not. He's not, any more.

"So," she says, not having a suitable comeback to compensate, " I did promise you dinner, right?"

* * *

"Where in Seireitei are were going, Shihōin Yoruichi? I was under the belief that we were on the way to partake in a meal."

"Hush," she murmurs, almost absentmindedly, as she vaults over another wall, forcing him to keep up with her speed. He would never admit to his earlier victory being a fluke, and though it's true that she's not what she used to be, she's still pretty damn fast. His haori nearly catches on another wire fence, and he manages to keep the flapping edge away from the jagged protrusions in the nick of time, scowling as she leaps ahead again.

They land in front of an old, abandoned warehouse, one of the many lining the river, and she slides open the door. Unsure of what to do, he follows eventually.

When his eyes adjust to the dim, naked light of the bulb dangling in an almost lewd manner from the corrugated iron roof, she is already pulling on a shirt. He watches her with an almost-fascination. He's seen her dress countless times, each after scaring the living daylights out of him by showing up naked, and he's always been drawn to the fluidity of her movements. They're simple, with no hesitation, and when he was younger, he used to spend restless nights wondering about how it would look if she did those actions in _reverse. _Then he would beat himself up mentally for daring to think such things.

"All better," she grins, slicking her hair back into a long, thick ponytail. He's startled by her voice, though it doesn't show on his face, but she catches him out all the same, like back when they were both younger.

"You're still a lil' pervert, huh, Byakuya-_bō_?"

"Be quiet," he grumbles, though his heart's not really in his words.

* * *

Half an hour later, they're seated face-to-face at one of the fancier restaurants downtown, at his insistence that they eat something "at least befitting for a man of my status, not that peasant _mush_." Byakuya mentally fidgets inside his _gigai, _which is now dressed in a very expensive suit - Armani, if he remembers correctly. Human brand names are a bother to remember.

Yoruichi thinks the light of the white wax candle that separates her many plates of steak, all seared a light raw colour, and Byakuya's white wine, is a touch of unnecessary romanticism. The light flickers distractingly, and she finds herself comparing the tone of the melting wax to his pale skin.

He's declined food, and instead watches her shovel steak into her mouth as if the meal she had eaten before leaving a hundred years ago was the last meal she'd eaten. To distract himself, he picks up his glass of wine, swirls it, and puts the edge of the glass to his lips, taking a refined sip.

Yoruichi suddenly finds herself wanting to be in the place of that glass, and stops eating to take respite in the cool stem of her own glass as she picks it up, her fingers wrapped firmly around the stem. She slides her glass up so it is almost touching her lips, and notices him watching. Curious about his intentions, she flicks out her tongue, licking firmly around the rim, and he sucks in an almost imperceptible breath, his silver eyes widening just a fraction.

"To your health," he murmurs softly, picking up the glass as if to distract himself, and his voice is so low it is almost a purr. She shivers at the deep baritone, so much lower than the complaining voice of the brat she knew as Kuchiki Byakuya, and when his lips linger at his own glass for longer than is necessary, she knows he's challenging her to his own game.

Fine. Two can play at this. She finishes her last plate of steak with, Byakuya swears, as much gusto as she did the first, and stands abruptly, downing the wine in her glass in a single, smooth contraction of her throat. He watches intently, with only the slightest upward movement of his eyebrows. "Wait here, Byakuya. I'll get the bill."

He does wait, and is surprised when she returns with two ice-creams, one in a cone, and the other in a cup with a spoon stuck into the top. She passes the cone to him, and he takes it, staring suspiciously, as though it could expunge its contents into his face any second. So, apparently this was all the rage in the Human World. His cone is cold to the touch, and the cream piled on top is of a pale pink colour, the same as sakura blossoms.

"It's sakura flavored," she explains. " Even if you're not eating food, you must have some. You can't come to the Human World without eating ice-cream, Byakuya."

He takes a cautious glance at the confection, not knowing how to approach this new food.

"Just lick," Yoruichi prompts, and for some reason, Byakuya has the feeling that that's not all she means. He watches, rather infuriated, as she scoops up her ice-cream, which is pure white, and pops the spoon into her mouth, keeping her eyes on him all the while.

"Why do I not have a spoon?" he asks, and she allows herself a small smile concealed by the spoon in her mouth at his slightly complaining tone.

"Of course not, silly," she chuckles, pulling the spoon out from between tightly pressed lips, and for a moment, she's still his teacher, berating him for his complaints about why she was always faster than him. She can taste the sweet fullness of the milk in her ice-cream, and is reminded of exactly why she loves that store - it is always true to its diverse collection of flavours.

"Here," she sighs, on his sixth failed attempt to get the ice-cream in his mouth, during which it almost drips onto the Armani suit his _gigai _is wearing. "Like this." She takes the cone from him, and holds it out. "Now tilt your face slightly, like you're going to kiss someone." He colours slightly.

"Don't tell me," she sighs. "You haven't actually properly kissed anyone before."

"I have!" he retorts, knowing that it is childish, but somehow being turned over by her makes everything ten times worse than usual; she, who knows him inside out. "I have been married," he states, more quietly this time, and with more dignity that he wants to, expecting her to... Well, he wasn't exactly sure just _what _he was expecting.

And she smiles. She _smiles_. "Good." There's this light in her irises, almost proud, almost just like the looks she would grant him during their years of training, so long ago, but which also holds volumes and volumes of sadness. He is overwhelmed by just a single glance, even though it is as if she is already putting floodgates to the decades of pent-up emotion inside.

_When did she begin to look like this? So...old._

He does not know. He will never know. These hundred years have passed too soon.

* * *

_He is summoned by his _ojī-sama -_ his honorable grandfather - on that day, that fateful day. Finally, after so many years of polite requesting, half an decade of silence and then a full-blown_ begging _assault on his grandfather that had lasted a full year - he will be allowed to start his training with a _sensei_, a respectable teacher appointed by his grandfather, in order to prepare for his duty as __28th Head of the Kuchiki Clan. He will be trained in the the arts of self-protection - how to run without stirring wind; how to conceal a blade such that it is never within sight, but always within reach._

_He can hardly wait._

_He is kneeling before his grandfather, so the only things visible of the old man are the tips of his sandals, each worth half a large mansion, and his socked feet, the extruding toes. He will not allow himself to tremble or shake. He has quite a few ideas about whom his grandfather will pick for him, and his grandfather has promised likewise - his teacher will be of very respectable standing; a member of the four Noble Houses._

_He knew the cogs running in his grandfather's brain - knew the only reason he had agreed to start so soon. This nobleman would take him in, train him, and then eventually, once he recognised Byakuya's prowess, would pick out one of his daughters for Byakuya. He would be betrothed, to someone he had never met before. And then, he would be married. The _M _word. So much more responsibility, so much more upon his shoulders. Would his new wife love him, truly?_

_Or as his mother had never done towards his father?_

_In his mind his grandfather's voice muttered unseen words of consent - a deal - a bargain, that somehow selling Byakuya off like this was justified, something about an inter-clan marriage strengthening the bonds between the two Houses, that it would be for the benefit of all._

_All but him, it seemed. He didn't want to get married, not to someone he didn't even know existed, someone who would put on her best robes at night, daub rouge on her smooth cheeks, paint lust into her eyes, and almost beg, in the manner of a dog, for him to pull her into their marriage-bed._

_For him to produce an heir._

_It's not like he doesn't know how babies are made - any self-respecting man should - but he's more concerned with the consequences rather than the act itself. A child. When he himself is barely half a century old. And what - would his son be like a younger brother to him, his wife-to-be like a sister? Would he have any love for a child born out of wedlock, a child he barely even knew?_

_He wonders if that was how his father felt, so many years ago. Did he truly have any love for Byakuya, like he'd promised so many times before he had been lowered into his grave?_

_He sees himself to be in a long, suffocating corridor, one which he can only walk straight forward, without retreat. He can turn, and in the shifting light, look behind himself, but all he will ever see is everything he's done wrong -_ forgive me, father, forgive. Have mercy. Your son will be a disappointment after you. Your son will not be able to break the walls. He is not strong enough_._

_He is not _strong_._

* * *

Now, however, Byakuya is faced with another mounting problem - his ice-cream has begun to melt, and if he's not careful, it really _will _get all over his suit. Civility, even to these _peasants_, however, catches his fingers, which are itching to throw the cone somewhere, and pulls them back. The more he flails, the more he is caught up in this binding, silken weave.

He has long since learned to stop trying to struggle.

Yoruichi sighs, taking the cone from him in exasperation, her fingers brushing his. She tilts her head slightly, so that her falling hair catches the low light in a slow _burn, _and his stomach rolls with the tilt.

She stretches out her tongue, not too hurried, but not overtly slow, either, and gives the base of the mound of pink cream a firm, slow lick. Some of the cream is licked off, smearing onto her tongue, and he can see a shiny indent in the once-smooth surface of the cold confection, and his own tongue is dying to reach out... to touch...

_Stop this nonsense immediately._

He does, to his own relief, though his fingers have sought refuge under the table; they are wrestling each other; they are fighting for control.

"Like this," she says, and hands the cone back to him. He is momentarily confused, then he remembers himself.

"Bite, if you have to. It won't hurt the ice-cream." The corners of her mouth are tilting up again - does she know how much he wants to kiss that mouth? To taste the cherry blossoms floating on her tongue?

To know as surely, as surely as she did, that he _could_ love?

He is momentarily mesmerised; but does as he is told. The soft cream feels like a tender caress down his throat, and he is reminded of the corridor he must walk down. It has no closure. The only light that waits for him at the end is only the start of a labyrinth.

* * *

_"I present you your_ _honorable_ sensei, _Byakuya. Present your greetings, as you have been instructed._"

_He has rehearsed this many times, kneeling as he is now in the direction of his new master, whose face is to him still a mystery. The words flow from between his lips like a prayer._

_"I humbly beseech you, the one standing before my kneeling figure, to accept my humble request to serve under you, my honorable and respectable teacher, to whose command and direction I lay my blade..." He can feel the burn well up in his cheeks - he will not be allowed to have a real _zanpakutō_, not be allowed to become a real Shinigami._

_"...and if you should so accept know that I..."_

_"Enough," a loud, demanding tone cuts into his senses, breaking the monotonous dribble of his voice. He is about to rise, berate whichever _vermin _it is for disrupting this important ceremony, one which will decide his_sensei's _first impression of him, when he stops, cold. The tips of a pair of soft black shoes have entered his cloudy field of vision, close to his face. They are made of fine leather - no doubt expensive, too - he can tell, just from the grain. He feels a rush of air, and someone is squatting before him. The edge of a white_ haori_, orange on the inside, flutters past him with a sigh. All is quiet. Byakuya waits. Then, he feels the tip of a finger press itself into his chin, lifting his head up gently. He does not resist, and his gaze travels past the baggy trouser legs of a black _hakama, _up past a browned hand, resting palm down atop a thigh, and then past ample breasts - breasts! - to a face._

_Choppy dark plum hair frames sharp, intelligent features, and golden eyes gaze straight into his own with a unsettling mix of playfulness and grave solemnity._

_His new teacher is a woman._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Shock runs through his mind, stirring him, crashing, foaming.

What on earth is going on?

Before he can say a word, or at least sufficiently recover, she cuts in, grinning at him, something he finds almost automatically distasteful.

"Hello! You must be Byakuya. I'm sure you've heard of me."

Without waiting for a reply, she ploughs on, tapping herself on the chest proudly. "I'm Yoruichi, Shihōin Yoruichi. They call me _shunshin_, the Flash Goddess." Another grin, showing white teeth like a cat's.

Byakuya is taken aback; he hasn't expected this. What was his grandfather thinking?

His new teacher studies him some more, circling his kneeling form- first to the left, and then to the right. Byakuya feels scrutinized, almost defiled by her gaze.

"He's a fine young boy, Ginrei," she remarks to his grandfather, casually, as if they were friends and he was cattle. "Aren't you, Byakuya-_bō_?"

Before she can say anything else, the anger surges within him, and Byakuya stands in a sudden, fierce motion, pointing at her.

"How dare you show such disrespect to my honored Grandfather!"

Everyone in the room is still, and every gaze is trained on him. Yoruichi watches him, arms crossed, a smirk on her face that he wants to march over and tear off.

The silence is pervasive; it reaches deep into the air, tainting it with the odour of tension. Byakuya looks to his grandfather for support, waits for him to agree.

"Enough!" His grandfather thunders, and disbelief runs through Byakuya's every nerve. Byakuya's eyes widen; he struggles to force his mouth closed, shame burning his cheeks like a fever. "Insolent child! You will not dishonor the Kuchiki name with your selfish words. Shihōin Yoruichi is a family friend, and a master of the Four Arts. I trust you will be in better hands with her than with anyone else."

Now it is rage that consumes Byakuya, a river of endless resentment. So this is what his grandfather has responded with; a thoughtless solution to his decades of endless pleading - a woman. And one who does not know her place, too!

He kneels again, face burning. "I thank you, Grandfather."

The tension hangs there, stiff as a wooden rod.

"Well then," says Yoruichi, as if she is completely oblivious to what had just happened. "Glad that's sorted - boring ceremony, that one."

She winks at his grandfather. Byakuya feels another boiling splash of resentment. Yoruichi turns to him, setting her hand on his shoulder- his shoulder!

"Well and fine, little one. Training begins at 6 on Monday. Meet me at my mansion."

And she's gone, leaving barely a breath of wind.

* * *

Byakuya wishes Monday would never come.

Much to his disappointment, it does, and he is forced by the light of the dawn to rise, put on a tunic and hakama, and bring along his bokken, proceeding about halfway across Seireitei to where the gates of the Shihōin mansion stand, regal and proud in the morning sun.

By his estimate, it will be 6 in another few minutes. He waits.

Somewhere far away, a bell chimes the start of the day.

His gaze turns expectantly to the gates, but there is no sign of Yoruichi.

Instead, there is a movement in the nearby bushes, and Byakuya tenses, lifting his bokken, but it is just a black cat that wanders out of the bush. Byakuya observes the animal. It drifts to his feet, rubbing itself against his trousers, and he sighs, bending down to pat its back. It stretches lazily and purrs.

The cat stays with him for a little while more before wandering off again. Byakuya straightens, and frowns.

She's late.

As if to spite him, Yoruichi comes bounding through the gates, spots him, and waves. "Hello there, little Byakuya!"

She turns to walk back into the mansion without so much as beckoning him to follow, and Byakuya is forced to hurry after her before the gates swing closed.

"I'm not _little_," he grumbles, catching up to her, "and you're _late_."

"Oh, I am?" she asks, waving her hand carelessly, but it is a rhetorical question. "Must've forgotten the time."

They walk further into the compound, with no further discussion. Byakuya's gaze wanders to a set of well-trimmed lawns, the gilded roofs of buildings that catch the sun, and the sheer extravagance of the place, one that rivals the Kuchiki compound's.

He's never been in the compounds of one of the other Houses before, but his grandfather certainly wasn't lying about Yoruichi being a member of the Four Noble Houses - he can see their clan sign imprinted on every building. Four intricate maple leaves surrounding a crescent moon, enclosed by a hexagon meant to represent a courtyard, and Byakuya notes that that is the meaning of their clan name, Shihōin - the courtyard of the four maple leaves.

The place is rather lively - some servants are bustling about, and some others are doing laundry - he can hear the chatters of some maids in another yard behind a nearby building, but Yoruichi doesn't stop there.

Soon, the voices fade, to be replaced by the chirps of crickets, as trees close over the way they have come. The forest is twisting, confusing, alive, yet beautiful; several times Byakuya spots a brightly-colored bird perched atop a branch.

He is so absorbed by all the sights the forest has to offer that when Yoruichi stops dead in her tracks, he bumps, with considerable force, into her.

Quite to his surprise, she does not fall like most court ladies; instead, he feels as though he has banged into a stone pillar, and unprepared for this incongruity of assumption and reality, he overbalances, and lands in a heap of trousers and tunic and mossy ground.  
Rubbing his forehead, he sits up, brushes himself off, and looking up at that deceptively diminuitive figure, grumbles, "Why have we stopped?"

She replies simply, without turning to look at him, "It is because we have no more need to go on." Byakuya almost marvels at the elegant, philosophical answer before he reminds himself that it comes from a brutish woman who has no regard for etiquette whatsoever.

They are at the foot of the thick trunk of what Byakuya supposes must be the largest tree in the entire forest. He can sense its life energy humming, pulsing from within its gnarled depths, and just stares in awe.

"Climb it," instructs Yoruichi.

"What?" asks Byakuya, perhaps louder than he should have, but this is ridiculous. He is supposed to learn the ways of a Shinigami, not how to climb a tree!

"You heard me," says Yoruichi, nonchalantly. "Climb the tree. It's your first assignment."

"I refuse," says Byakuya blatantly, crossing his arms. He has put up with this woman's impudent attitude for too long. He is grown, a fine young man ready for the mantle of responsibility. And here she treats him like a child!

He waits, almost expectant, for her reaction.

Instead of blowing up in his face, she retorts, with a calm smile that sets the hate gnawing at his bones again, "So the great Kuchiki Byakuya cannot even climb a tree. That is no news, I suppose."

She couldn't have done more damage by hitting him with any other taunt.

"I can climb perfectly well," he growls.

"Prove it," she replies.

"I don't need to prove that I can climb a tree," he hisses, glaring at her like an offended cat.

"That's just another way of saying you can't," she replies, curtly.

"I will not." He crosses his arms adamantly; looks away, because his eyes cannot match the intensity of her gaze.

"Do you want to become a Shinigami or not?" she asks in reply.

Byakuya loses it.

"Yeah, but you can't make me one! You were at least supposed to teach me at least how to protect myself! Climbing stupid plants isn't going to make me a Shinigami; nothing you pretend to make me do is going to change that. I wanted to fight with a sword! That's what was going to make me a Shinigami, and I'm never going to get to do that! This is going to get me nowhere!"

Suddenly, he is forced down onto the ground by a huge pressure, something intangible; yet it pummels the breath from his lungs. His face meets hard, cool dirt, and however much he tries to move, he can't bring himself to even breathe. Anger gives way to panic that builds up inside, walled up by the fact that he has lost control, lost control, doesn't have any sovereignty over what is his-

A voice speaks, powerful and thundering and slamming against his already pounding head.

"You'll do what I tell you to, _Kuchiki Byakuya_, because here I am your _master_, and you will be _nothing_ without me." Byakuya can't even breathe, can't respond.

The voice mocks. "Look at you, poor weakling. Can't even stand the simple pressure of a bit of _reiatsu_. I'm here to make you a Shinigami, even without wielding a sword, and I'll do that in my own time. You will not question me. Is that understood?"

Byakuya can barely fight against the force that is pushing him down to move his head, the barest fraction of an inch. The pressure fades away, and he sits up fast, gulping air in huge, sweet gasps - life!

"Climb the tree," Yoruichi repeats, looking down at him, inflectionless tone stinging in his ears.

Byakuya is reduced to just glaring. After a while, he mutters, "Fine. I'll climb. But I'll never call you master, _Shihōin demon_."

As he stands, turns away to face the tree, he gets the insidious feeling that he never had much of a choice anyway.

"It's just a tree. I can climb it," he mutters, though more for his own benefit than hers. It is huge, and tilting his head back, Byakuya cannot see where its enormous canopy ends, and the rest of the forest begins.

No, it is as if the entire forest has its roots from this single tree, and the whole spread of vegetation is a giant, interconnected organism.

A shudder runs through him; the insignificance of his being compared to this ancient, powerful entity hits him then, with the intensity of a lightning bolt.  
But he must conquer it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yoruichi has returned to watching him with the same, serene smile on her face that neither deters nor encourages, and the rush of anger floods through him, overpowering his fear.

Taking a cursory glance to determine his projected path up the trunk, he takes a few steps backwards, readies himself, and charges. He leaps, getting about a meter up the trunk, holds on to a thick vine with arms muscled from continued bokken practice, and for a few seconds, it is as if he will actually make it, but then, the vine snaps.

Byakuya lunges for the trunk, but gravity overpowers him, and he scrabbles against the gnarled wood helplessly before landing hard on his back, all the air knocked out of him. He lies there for a few moments, trying to regain his breath, but cannot seem to re-inflate his similarly crushed pride. He slides his eyes shut, squeezes the lids together, and concentrates on breathing, his heart pounding. When he opens them again, turning his head to the left slightly, Yoruichi sits beside him, face bent slightly over his, brows creased.

"Are you quite all right?" she asks, and in his mind the words take on a sort of ironic mockery.

"That's none of your business," he growls, sitting up so abruptly that she is forced to pull her head out of the way to avoid a collision, and Byakuya feels a sense of perverse triumph.

Getting to his feet and facing the tree, Byakuya rushes at it with a yell. This time, he is able to get a grip with his feet, but his hands slips before he can propel himself higher, and he falls.

Byakuya slams his palm into the ground. "Stupid tree," he mutters.

"Again," Yoruichi orders.

Byakuya sends a smouldering glance in her direction, then gets to his feet. He takes another moment to size up the tree, then charges at it again. When he leaps, Yoruichi can pick out so many things wrong with his stance, and she knows before he's even taken off that he will fail.

And fail he does.

Again and again he tries, to the same result, while Yoruichi watches, unmoving, the smile on her face fading to a cold mask devoid of expression.

As Byakuya pushes himself off the spot where he's fallen for the umpteenth time, and sits up to breathe, he is met with the sight a trail of red, snaking for a few metres up the tree. Scattered here and there amidst green and brown are fragments of bloody handprints. Gritting his teeth, he wipes his stinging palms on his tunic, only to discover that the fabric is similarly streaked with red.

Exhaling, he readies himself for another attempt-

"Enough."

Byakuya looks up, surprised. His eyes, clouded with exhaustion, flicker around, shadowed, apathetic, searching until they land on Yoruichi's face.

"_Enough_," Yoruichi repeats quietly, exhaling through her nose, and is that... is that something pained, something soft creeping into her voice?

"Don't waste your time. You'll never make it up that tree today. Go home now. I'll see you tomorrow at 6."

She is gone.

Byakuya blinks, then picks his _bokken_ up, and contemplates the tree for a little while more. Eventually, he, too, leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The night is still and stifling, with only cicadas chirping loudly in the summer night. Yoruichi lies awake, Byakuya's flat gaze boring into the inside of her eyelids. As she watches, the gaze transposes itself onto another pair of eyes, softer, rounder, but no less determined. She shakes her head, as if by doing so she can chase the stray memory away like a fly. It is to no avail, and the memory floods back to her.

Yoruichi has seen that determined gaze before, somewhere else in another time, on another person's face.

"Please wait, Yoruichi-san!"

Yoruichi stops in her tracks, the wind whipping her hair back, and grins down from atop her perch on her favorite tree.

"Hurry up, Sōjun, or we won't catch the sunset!"

The upturned face of the boy below her is pale and thin, but alight with a smile. The rosy glow of the dying sun casts his face in a much healthier shade than he would normally have looked. He leans against the large trunk, and breathes, his blue tunic bright against the earthy shades of the bark.

"Yoruichi-san, I'm... tired." Before he can finish the last word of his sentence, however, he breaks into a coughing fit, doubling over.

Yoruichi is by his side instantly, but he waves her away, brow furrowed with the effort of forcefully expelling air from his lungs. She protests at first, but eventually stands aside and watches, each hacking noise a streak of pain in her heart.

He looks up at her though, and while in his gaze she can see that it pains him for her to see him like this, his gaze is strong and unwavering.

"You told me you'd take me to see the sunset. I promised you we'd make it. I won't let you down, Yoruichi!" He reaches out, and takes her hand in his, his slender fingers interlocking with hers. The little patch of contact is warm, and feels real and alive.

"Foolish boy," she mutters, casting her gaze elsewhere, and she's thankful for the red of the setting sun shining on her face.

He lets go, looks up at the trunk of the tree for a while, and studies the bark intently, raising his finger to trace possible paths up the scaly surface. She wonders if she should help him up, but decides against it. After all, Sōjun's in action already, and she is brimming with anticipation at what he will do.

He stays like this for a while, then suddenly moves into action.

Yoruichi admires the way his lithe body climbs like a mountain cat, scaling the trunk slowly but surely, until he reaches a point where he pauses for a moment. Yoruichi frowns. From here, there's almost nowhere to continue his ascent - all the handholds above are out of reach. Without hesitating, Sōjun grabs a nearby, weaker-looking branch, and yanks down sharply, throwing himself upwards. The branch snaps, but Sōjun has already managed to reach the next handhold. He hangs there, swaying slightly and a bit out of breath, but eventually resumes his calculated, calm climbing. Yoruichi marvels from the ground.

_Incredible... He anticipated that the branch would break, but where others wouldn't choose that route, he took the risk, and managed to use the breakage to his advantage?_

It takes him a while more, but finally he's scaled the trunk of the gigantic tree and sits, feet dangling and a graceful smile on his face, on a lower branch in its canopy. The light dies as its weak beams brush aside the lower boughs and leave spots of red and orange in varying shades of red, littered upon the forest floor like so many falling leaves in Autumn.

He looks down at her in awe. "It really is high up here, isn't it, Yoruichi-san? Come on up, or we'll miss the sunset!" He extends a hand down towards her.

In a minute, Yoruichi is able to join him atop his perch, and this time he's quite happy to have her help him up the rest of the way. They tread their way through the rest of the canopy, navigating dense brush and complicated webs of smaller branches, stuck shoes and trapped fingers, until they reach the very top.

By then, Sōjun is really out of breath, and a patch of angry red has marked the inside of Yoruichi's wrist where Sōjun has clutched her arm so many times, but still they sit beside each other, knees brushing, just ever so slightly. Sōjun leans his head on Yoruichi's shoulder slowly, and she blinks down at him, tilting her head in enquiry. He doesn't move.

Slowly, she raises a hand to smooth down his hair. It is silk, and glows red like the embers of light falling from the sky have woven themselves into his hair. His body is warm, and so close to hers. Together, they watch the sun sink, wavering, behind the horizon, a large half-disk getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller...

Byakuya now is totally different from Sōjun then; more physically able, gifted even, but lacking the analytical calm of his father. In fact, Yoruichi thinks, he's so hot-headed you could fry eggs on top of his crown for breakfast. In both, though, there existed immense potential, and the same, strong-willed drive, the set expression that transcended time, that transcended the gap between father and son, that Yoruichi had been able to glimpse once more, after so many years.

Byakuya's determined expression swims in front of her eyes again, and this time she takes the time to observe how much Byakuya resembles his father.

Maybe, if she tried, she could even learn to like the little self-centered, annoying brat. But only just maybe. And Sōjun had been able to climb the tree on his first try. Still, Yoruichi thinks, he's not completely hopeless. And maybe, with the right love and care, he could turn out to be more like his father...

_Who am I kidding? He's not some pitiful stray animal... No need to go easy on him. He'll be a good Shinigami yet, if I can just set aside my emotions, just for this while. After all, it is only a debt to repay. I'll make myself scarce after that._

A voice breaks into her thoughts. _"I wanted to fight with a sword! That's what was going to make me a Shinigami, and I'm never going to get to do that!"_

Yoruichi waves the thought away and closes her eyes, but somehow, she's not satisfied.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A gust of wind from the open window extinguishes the candle.

Wait... The window wasn't supposed to be open, precisely for that reason. Every bone in Byakuya's body tingles; his muscles tense.

"Show yourself," he snarls, raising his book in what he hopes is a threatening enough manner for whatever assailant that has had the audacity to enter his room to either escape, tail between legs, or come out so that he can call the guards to dispatch them. At the very least, he hopes it will offer him some sort of delay.

"Come out here and show your face, assassin!"

"My, my," comes a voice from the dark space beside him, and he cries out and swings the book at his feet, but doesn't contact anything. "Y'know, kiddo - if I wanted to be an assassin, they wouldn't even have enough left of you to bury in a nutshell. Now quit yapping. There's a reason I didn't come in through the front door." Byakuya shudders at the choice of words. So, whomever it was was certainly capable of murdering him in cold blood. If he could only -

" -And don't even think about screaming. If you raise your voice even a peep, I'll make sure you'll regret it." The voice is distinctly male, low and gravelly, and the dialect used is one used by elders. So, an old man. And judging by the origin of the voice, a darn short old man, too.

"Light that candle, will you? You'll be useless in the dark if you can't see half as well as I can." Byakuya guides his shaking fingers to grope in the dark, and manages to relight the candle without burning off his own fingers.

And scrambles backwards.

Because what he sees is a black cat. With a shining blade between its jaws.

* * *

"Hey, um, Neko-_san_," he begins awkwardly, trying very hard not to stare at the cat's sword. "Have you seen-"

"Don't be a fool," snaps the cat irritably. Byakuya yells and falls backwards, scrambling away frantically. His heart is a palpitating mess, and every alarm bell in his head is going off at the same time.

"What, who else d'you think it could have been? Voices don't just come out of nowhere, you know."

"B...but... you're a cat! And you talk!"

The cat cocks its head. "You're a kid, and you talk. How do you know you aren't speaking my language, hmm?"

He can't.

"Appearances can be deceiving sometimes, kiddo. Didn't anybody ever teach you that?" The cat sits back on its haunches, drops the sword with a clatter, and licks a front paw lazily.

Byakuya's gaze is trained on the sword. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. "Hey... what is that?" He asks, pointing at the sword, doing something - anything - to keep the assailant's attention away from him.

The cat doesn't even bother to take its eyes off Byakuya, all the while cleaning itself with a pink tongue amidst a set of gleaming white teeth, and he gulps nervously.

"It's a sword, you ignorant brat. Don't tell me you haven't seen one before." Byakuya bristles slightly at the cat's words, but decides not to do anything stupid while the cat still has the sword.

He calculates his chances. Surely he can overpower a small black cat, even if it does have a sword. And anyway, how's a cat supposed to use a sword without hands? He just has to wait for his chance. He just has to be patient, and the chance to escape will undoubtedly present itself, he thinks.

"Who... who are you?" He finally musters the courage to ask. Sure, if they were a kidnapper they could certainly hold him ransom for an astronomical sum, but he can't really see what a cat would want to do with money.

"You don't remember? How disappointing. We recently met."

Byakuya is about to argue that he's never in his life seen a _Rei-ō_-be-damned talking cat before, when suddenly, it comes to him.

"Wait... don't tell me... You're from this morning? That cat?"

"Of course, you _baka_. What other talking cat in your life have you seen before?"

"But... but you weren't talking at the time, Neko-_san_."

"Of course not. I found no reason to talk. I was testing your tolerance of cats. If you can't even stand the regular variety, then there'd be no use talking to you, would there?"

"Wait... What do you mean, Neko-_san_? What exactly do you want to talk to me for?"

The cat gives him a look, as if to say, are you utterly stupid beyond any form of assistance? Then it says, "Well, that should be pretty obvious, brat."

Byakuya frowns.

The cat gestures with its paw to the glittering blade lying innocently on his _tatami_ mat.

"Wouldn't you like to know how to fight... with a sword?"

* * *

Byakuya has climbed out of the window, and the cat is impatiently beckoning for him to follow.

"Come on, brat. Don't tell me you've reached your limit already. A drunk rock could walk faster than you!"

Byakuya ignores the stinging taunt, and hurries after the cat. Though undoubtedly when this business is all over he will strangle the feline with his bare hands and make it into a hat, he is temporarily interested in what this talking cat has to offer. To fight with a sword - a real one? That'd be eons ahead of what Shihōin Yoruichi was trying to get him to do.

Huh. Climb trees. Like you could become a Shinigami by doing that. Though in terms of attitude the cat is no better than his teacher, he can at least admit that what the cat is going to make him do is of a totally different caliber to scaling branches.

"Are we there yet?" He's been walking for a while, and the roads have squeezed themselves into tiny paths that wind through a sighing bamboo forest. The leaves are shadowy above his head, and he feels increasingly like he's being devoured by the surroundings. Checking over his shoulder to see that nothing is behind him, he continues after the small black shape. The darkness makes it hard to see that cat's equally black body, and the fact that the shadows are constantly shifting makes it no better. He shudders as the wind whispers in his ear, and presses on.

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"I said no."

"..."

"..."

"Are we there yet?"

"One more time and I'm leaving you to the wolves!"

He is silent after that.

Soon the path widens to lead into a clearing where the cloudless, dark purple sky is visible, and stars dot the dark fabric. Then the path shifts again, and they are heading up a hillside, the cat running just a few steps away from Byakuya. He is then ushered into an opening in the side of the hill, and then suddenly the sky is bright, and cloudless. He is staring at a barren, empty landscape, with various rock formations jutting from the dirt.

The cat pauses to allow Byakuya to catch his breath, and then stare at his surroundings with wonder.

"Before you ask, brat, tell no one of this place, or I will slit your throat in your sleep. Neither do you need to know where this is. Just know that no one will disturb us here." Byakuya nods, then stares in awe, wondering what sort of _kidō_ must have been used to create this hideout.

The cat sets the sword down in front of him. Byakuya picks up the blade by its hilt, and examines it closely. It is a real sword, and sharp, too. He thinks the closest he's ever been to one of those is his grandfather's constantly sheathed _zanpakutō_.

"Hey, Neko-_san_, I think I've read about this before. Isn't this an Asauchi? Like the kind that all starting Shinigami have to use before they get their _zanpakutō_? Where'd you get one of those? I thought the Gotei 13 were hoarding them."

The cat pauses only for a moment, then turns back to him. "Indeed it is. Perhaps you aren't as stupid as you look. And if you want to become a Shinigami, I suggest you worry less about the origins of your equipment than whether you can actually use it properly."

Byakuya glares for a moment, then regains his composure. "Bet you stole that," he mutters under his breath.

"What was that?" snarls the cat.

"N...nothing!"

* * *

At the cat's command, Byakuya lifts the Asauchi. It is heavier than he has expected, and he has to concentrate to keep his arms from trembling with the weight.

"Hold it there," the cat orders, and has Byakuya hold the sword with his arms outstretched until his arms are aching. It's not unlike his bokken training.

"Now, I'm sure you know how an Asauchi works." Byakuya nods. The most basic form of a _zanpakutō_, an Asauchi would stay constantly with its owner, eating, sleeping and training with him until the wielder's very essence was imprinted onto the sword. The sword's sentient spirit would then call out to the wielder, and once heard, the wielder's would converse with the spirit. After an agreement between sword and wielder was made, the sword would become a proper _zanpakutō_, staying with its owner until death.

"More clingy than a woman," one of his grandfather's dinner guests had joked on the subject of the Asauchi.

"That's why you mustn't let it out of your sight. Keep it with you at all times."

Byakuya nods.

"Now, try swinging it. Aim for that rock there."

Byakuya grunts as he swings, putting his weight behind the blade, and the sword strikes the rock with a clang, and skids off the surface, dragging Byakuya's arms with it. But he's determined. Again. And again. Sweat pours down his forehead, and soon the gasps of breath are hurting his throat.

"Enough," growls the cat. "Take a break." It leads him to a small creek that bubbles through the landscape, the clear water rippling as it curves between two large, moss-stained rocks. Byakuya drinks gratefully, and splashes the water over his face. He's never thought that water tasted so good before. No - it's not just that. He is feeling much better. He takes another large gulp of the clear, cooling water. Energy rushes into his limbs, all at once, and he gasps, a grin spreading across his face.

"Whoa."

"Don't dally," snaps the cat, and immediately Byakuya sets back to work. He can't tell the passage of time - the colour of the sky hasn't changed a bit since he entered this place - but after some time, he's managed to put a dent in the unforgiving mass of rock.

The cat checks his progress, then nods, apparently satisfied. "This way."

This time, he's led to a bubbling hot spring. Byakuya slings his clothes out of harm's way over the top of a rock, loosens the tie from his hair, then sinks gratefully into the water. Already he can feel his muscles loosening, the tension diffusing into the water, and he sighs, leaning his head back on the edge of the pool. Utter bliss.

"Feel better, eh?"

Byakuya shrieks. The cat is paddling next to him, eyes half-closed.

"What- you- _get out_!"

"I'm a cat, kiddo. It doesn't matter. You want the water or not?"

Grudgingly, Byakuya settles with his back to the rock, pulling his knees up to make soft ripples in the warm water as they draw up to his chest. The cat swims over to his lap and settles on top of his knees, small, wet, warm body purring gently. He runs his fingers through warm, damp fur, and slides his eyes shut, breath pouring into the steam curling from the surface of the water.

Sleep comes to him, then.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Byakuya awakes with a start.

_Had it all been a dream? _

Heart pounding, he sits up, his blanket falling from his chest to softly thump onto his lap. In the low light of the dawn, a silvery blade glitters, laid neatly beside his futon. He reaches out to touch the naked metal, and the cold edge meets the tips of his fingers. He shudders.

_No, so it wasn't a dream._

Then, going by events, neither is the talking cat, or the secret training ground. Everything that has transpired last night has actually... transpired.

His entire body aches - muscles straining even more than when he usually trains, and he grunts as he pushes himself off the _futon_, and kneels beside the blade.

According to the cat, he'll have to hide the stolen blade, or things could turn out bad if anyone finds out and reports to his grandfather, and then his dreams of becoming a skilled Shinigami will vanish.

After much careful deliberation, he decides to strap the Asauchi to his back, underneath his clothes, where hopefully it will be concealed enough for it to be undiscovered. So decided, he creeps out from his room, and sneaks down the corridor in search for a roll of bandages.

"Byakuya." A familiar voice stops him dead in his tracks, and his heart pounds as he turns, kneeling in one swift motion.

"Yes, Grandfather?" He tries desperately to keep his voice from trembling, and dares not look up to his grandfather's face, lest he be found out.

"How is your training?"

"Fine, sir. I am... making progress." Byakuya swallows, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

"Very well. Your teacher has also conveyed to me that you look to be a promising young man." A promising young man? He hadn't known that the Shihōin demon was capable of such compliments.

"Yes, sir."

"Train well! Perhaps then you will live up to the Kuchiki name, as have I, and my forefathers before me."

Byakuya notices that his grandfather doesn't say a thing about his father.

"Now go for your training, boy."

"Yes,_ ojī-sama._"

Satisfied, Kuchiki Ginrei walks past his grandson's kneeling figure, _haori _fluttering behind him, and moves away.

Byakuya looses a sigh, and rises, heading forward.

* * *

"Forty-eight... forty-nine... fifty!" Byakuya drops from the branch, and lands in a crouch, grimacing from the impact. His arms are burning, and he rubs them vigorously, then sits with a huff, stretching tired muscles above his head.

"Not bad, Byakuya-_bō_," Yoruichi grins as she squats beside him, _haori _billowing in the wake of her motion. "Fifty pull-ups already - my, you look promising."

"Don't underestimate me!" He grumbles, crossing his arms, though the motion cracks a whip of pain across his shoulders. "I could've done more if I wanted to."

"Then, why didn't you?"

"Because... because you told me fifty!"

And because all this is darn tiring. The Asauchi strapped to his back is threatening to slip from the sweaty bindings, and he wishes the session would end, so that he may return to sword training with the cat.

Yoruichi's eyes gleam. Byakuya has learned to be wary of that look, but instead of teasing him, she simply says,

"Good."

His eyes widen slightly, and a faint flush creeps across his face, so he looks away, muttering under his breath.

"A good soldier always obeys his superior's commands. That is the way of the Onmitsukidō. Disarray and disorganisation because of personal wants will lead to chaos. Always think for the whole team, and never for your own good."

Is he just imagining it, or when she says this, does he see the light glancing off a dampness in her eyes?

"Yeah... whatever... wait. So, you're training me to become a ninja? I thought I was going to become a Shinigami!" He turns back towards her, fists clenched and ready for... For, well whatever she was going to do next.

"Not entirely. All Shinigami must go through basic physical training, but as head of the Onmitsukidō, I will not settle for mere clumsiness in your movements. Being a Shinigami is like learning how to write calligraphy - if you do not master the individual strokes, how can your characters flow? How will you have force and power in your writing?"

Byakuya falls silent, so that only his breath rasps like the cicadas calling on the trees around them.

Yoruichi continues. "Your grandfather... As you're well aware, he did not wish for you to walk down this path. He would rather you stay your hand in the family business, learn how to conduct talks and tea-parties, how to make deals and trades, and have a shrewd mind, than allow you to protect where you should be protected."

"Yeah, I know," Byakuya grumbles. "And then get married and have kids. Like I want to. But anyway, isn't he a Shinigami? And wasn't my father a Shinigami as well? Why doesn't he want me to become a Shinigami?"

Yoruichi doesn't attempt to reply, so Byakuya concludes, "It's something to do with my father. I know it is. That's why I want to become a Shinigami. So I can be stronger, and access those files in that Great Library place and find out what exactly happened to him. That's all."

Again he finds himself met with silence, and in the few moments that ensue, his brain registers the absurdity of the situation.

"... And anyway, why am I telling you this? Jeez. You've got nothing to do with it, so keep your nose out of this and just hurry up and make me a Shinigami already, Shihōin demon!"

"That will take a while. After you have completed your training, your grandfather will hopefully see fit to allow his pride and joy to enter the Gotei 13."

"He will. I'll make him!"

"You sure have a lot of energy, young one. How about 500 more push-ups? You're to be able to climb that tree by the end of this week, you know."

"You're... you're kidding me, right? Right?"

* * *

She has drilled that into him since... and that is why he knows that even if he does not want to continue his mission, he must. _Always think of the greater good - the greater good._

* * *

Night throws its silvery spotted lampshade over the sky, and Byakuya finds himself in his room, tersely awaiting the cat's arrival.

_If this isn't all a dream, then surely it will come back for me._

His fingers sweep across the words printed on the pages of his book, his eyes straining to read the words in the candlelight, but truth be told, he isn't really concentrating on what he's reading. Every five seconds, his eyes flick to the window. Vines of anticipation are creeping across his heart, squeezing, and the added pressure makes it beat faster, and faster...

"If I didn't know better, boy, I'd say you were waiting for a lover."

Byakuya jumps. The cat is behind him, in a place it couldn't have gotten to without arousing his attention first. If he really hadn't known better, he would have sworn that it had knit itself together from the shadows littered in the corner of the room.

Or had it?

"Come, there's no time to dilly-dally. I trust you've been with your sword all day long?" Byakuya answers in the affirmative, and the cat nods. It is dark, but from what Byakuya can make out of the cat's expression, it seems to be satisfied.

"Well then, let us begin your training."

It is exhausting, swinging continuously at the huge rock with his Asauchi, and the movement drives blisters into the skin of his hands, but it is something he is more than willing to do. The cat has assured him that the sword will not tarnish from such a beating, and so Byakuya puts everything he has into each swing. He reaches up briefly, stopping his momentum to wipe sweat from his brow, and hefts the sword back up onto his shoulder.

The cat perches atop the rock, watching him intently as he grits his teeth and powers the blade into the rock again and again. From where his sword has made continuous contact, cracks have begun to spread across the arid surface; they criss-cross, weave into each other, dark spidery lines across the surface of the rock.

It is another half-hour before the black cat stops him. "You're now used to the heft of this sword, are you not?"

Byakuya nods, unsure of what the cat has planned out for him.

"Good. Your next task is to break this rock within the next five hours." The cat leads him away, to another smaller rock not far away, and then jumps on top of the rock, padding around in a circle, and then settling down, head on its paws as it watches him work.

Byakuya gets to work immediately. He hefts the sword onto his shoulder, then, muscles straining, brings it down to meet the rock. Steel clashes with stone, but there is no visible impact mark.

"Try harder," the cat yawns from atop the rock. "I didn't feel half a vibration from up here. Remember, five hours, brat."

Byakuya hides the scowl spreading across his face, and makes another swing.

Repetitions turn his hands into an angry red mass of blisters and fingers clenched so tight they are white, and sometime... sometime between now and then he's just lost any train of coherent thought. All he knows is that the sun is relentless, he hasn't drunk anything for the past three and a half hours except for the occasional bead of sweat trickling past his parched lips, and that he is... unsteady. No, swaying. But he has no time... has to... has to...

* * *

It is dawn, or just before, where the sky is a shade of fish-belly white and the clouds are beginning to take on the same colour just beyond the edge of the horizon.

Byakuya awakes with a start, eyelids flying open. Still groggy, he sits up...

...And immediately regrets it. Pain slices through his back, his shoulders, his thighs. Every part of him feels like he's been force-fed into a shredder, and he winces, a gasp escaping his throat. The Asauchi lies quiet and still next to him. He remembers, then, the realisation hitting him like an open-palm strike to the back of the head, stinging in his ears.

_Dammit. I failed._

Training that morning loses its flavour, and most of Yoruichi's taunts have gone completely ignored. He hasn't even reacted to having to more than the number of push-ups he does usually, though Yoruichi can see the strain in his arms, and the way he bites his lip on every exertion, his breath coming out in fierce huffs that swirl into the dense morning air.

_It's as if he's shut himself down._

But his eyes have continued to burn with a defiant flame, and he completes everything he's asked to do with little other signs of exhaustion. A smile spreads slowly across Yoruichi's face as she watches from beside him, arms crossed as she notes his progress.

_Well, he's learning. It'll take time, if anything, but he's as persistent as Sōjun. _

She finally allows him a break, passing him a canteen, which he takes suppressed, but grateful, sips from; then he tilts his head up in a way that is so stomach-lurchingly familiar, and grumbles, some of the original, disgruntled boy back in his furrowed brow, "Are we done now? I did everything you asked me to, and I'm hungry, Shihōin demon. Do you have lunch prepared, or are you too poor to afford it?"

She throws her head back in deep belly laughter at this feeble attempt at preserving dignity, and he scowls.

* * *

Lunch is a simple affair, shared under the canopy of a tree, away from the hot sun. Byakuya devours his lunch, hunger an amnesiac to all the table manners he's ever learned.

He takes some time after lunch to wander the expansive gardens of the Shihōin compounds, and he is once again in his element, bending to inspect flowers blooming in their beds like a commander would assess his troops. The wind is blowing in his face, and curves the flowers at their waists, the petals trembling with exquisite loveliness, as virgin court maidens do. He passes a hall where the strains of music float past his ears from an open sliding door, watches the musicians inside display their skills with the flute and the _samisen, _and another where young men dressed in fine garb practise their calligraphy with decisive strokes, all things he has been taught to do ever since he learned to stand. A sudden and violent shudder at the emptiness of fine art comes over him, amplified by the pressure of the Asauchi along the length of his spine, and he turns away, wandering back on the paths that cut through the flowerbeds until he's back at the tree.

Yoruichi is waiting for him, hands on hips.

"Did you see anything interesting?"

He shakes his head, suddenly drained of the strength to add a good insult to the end of that statement. To his relief, she doesn't pursue it; instead leads him away from the buildings and into the forest. They commence the long trek of leafy green vegetation and soft damp soil underfoot until they have reached the towering behemoth of a tree in the middle of the forest. It still looks as intimidating as yesterday, and his attempts to climb it still futile, though less so, as he manages to get himself up onto the second layer of thick, outstretched branches before realising that he has no apparent way to get to the third. He's stuck for a while there, caught between admitting defeat for the day or remaining stuck on the tree, to be left alone in the rapidly approaching dark.

It's not something he fancies, and the weight of the Asauchi strapped to his back, cold against the sweat forming there, sends pangs of buzzing, dreadful anticipation into his stomach at the thought of his night training.

He clears his throat, awkwardly.

"Um... Shihōin demon?" His voice is crackly from disuse and a parched throat, and it takes him a few tries to sound the words.

"Yes?" She calls, from the ground below. He can hardly see her for the way her silhouette seems to melt into the patches of shadow below.

"Um... How do I..."

She waits, patiently.

"... How do I... get down?"


End file.
